nights in white satin
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: "The lord seeks only to love, and be loved in return. The desire itself is pure, but it has become corrupted with envy and jealousy—and what he believes love should be." Gentiana reveals to Ravus what he wants most, yet the dream she conveys feels more like a nightmare… once he awakens. But in sleep, he knows only a terrible bliss. I do not own FFXV (and apologize for everything).


Whatever Ravus wants has never been of much consequence—until now.

This is the first time anyone has cared since his childhood, but he knows better than to think of a visit from the High Messenger as a gift in the human sense. At this point, he is accustomed to sleepless nights, but Gentiana's appearance in the midst of his usual pacing brings him up short.

"I heard the lord's soul calling out for answers," she says, before Ravus can so much as curse at her unexpected presence, and he crosses his arms to suppress a shudder. He has never liked Gentiana, especially not her closed-eyed omniscience. "He knows not what he wants."

"Then… have you come to tell me?" asks Ravus, glowering at her. It is true that he has lost sight of his path lately, having been forced to divide his efforts between serving the Empire and saving his sister, but the gods have never expressed the slightest concern for him before. Why would they send one of their Messengers to him _now_?

Gentiana must be able to hear the suspicion in his tone, but does not react to it. She simply inclines her head, as unperturbed as ever. "Merely to show him his innermost yearning," she says. "If he wishes to see."

Her words are light, but ominous, and Ravus narrows his eyes. "Am I to believe this is a gift?" he asks disbelievingly. "After so many years of _nothing_? You and your kind abandoned my family to our fate." There must be a reason for her timing, and he doubts it relates to his welfare. More likely, she will get something out of it too. And, knowing the nature of the Six, it may be at his expense.

"It is the gift of knowing," says Gentiana coolly. "Will the lord accept it?" She offers no further information, and Ravus heaves an exasperated sigh. It has been long enough since their last meeting that he has forgotten how direct she can be, despite her roundabout speech. She intends her offers to be either taken or left, and they tend to show rather than tell.

After a short pause as he weighs his options, he nods abruptly. His only reason to refuse relates to her motivations, and those are likely to remain a mystery no matter what he does. Under the circumstances, he has very little to lose and quite a bit to gain.

Lying back cautiously on his bed, Ravus keeps half a wary eye on Gentiana as she approaches with soft and measured steps. "Sleep now," she says, brushing her hand down before his face, and though she does not touch him, his eyes close. "And dream of desire."

Nothing happens, and Ravus frowns, stirring restlessly in place. Whatever blanket of magic she wove over him did not put him to sleep, as she insisted it would. But then again, perhaps her spell was not instantaneous. For some time, he lies there in still silence, trying to measure his breathing and slip into unconsciousness, to no avail. He is still fully awake, and just as annoyed with his situation as ever.

Eventually, Ravus can stand it no longer and opens his eyes again… only to find himself standing in Lunafreya's room in Tenebrae.

His thoughts become hazier the more he takes in his surroundings, as though overwriting more recent impressions. Gentiana crosses his mind for the first time in what must be years, though he cannot imagine why. And, as he flexes his stiffened fingers (why should he be so surprised to find them all human?), he seems to snap back into his body from somewhere outside it. He must have been waiting long enough that his mind began to wander.

But whatever Ravus was thinking about, it flees his head like the air from his lungs as Lunafreya emerges, dressed in her wedding gown, from behind the screen dividing her chambers. And she is, in a word, _stunning_. The warm glow of sunset through the window, dancing with the golden lamplight inside, shimmers on the elegant drapes and folds of white satin—perfectly fitted to her form.

"How does it look?" asks Lunafreya, rotating slowly, and her tone is one of anxious anticipation. "Our people often remind me that everything must be perfect for my special day, and your eyes are the sharpest I know. If there are any imperfections, then please…"

Shaking his head as Lunafreya trails off, Ravus clears his throat. "You look lovely, Lunafreya," he says, once he can speak, and his voice is hushed to his own ears as he delivers the most heinous understatement of his life. "Like the queen you will someday be." Despite his awe, he cannot suppress the faintest note of resentment. She should have been a queen someday in her _own_ right, without having to share the throne of Lucis.

"I'm glad to hear it," says Lunafreya, letting out a long breath as though having been holding it in for some time. However, though Ravus might ordinarily interpret it as relief that she appears just as a bride should, her mannerisms are too nervous and distracted for him to believe it. She is fidgeting with one of her overskirts, and her eyes focus on nothing as she glances out the window. Not all is well. Perhaps that was not the sole reason she summoned him here tonight.

"Is something wrong, Sister?"

She hesitates before turning back toward him, offering a weary smile. "I-it's nothing, really," she says, her beautiful sky-blue eyes downcast. "Please don't worry about me."

"Tell me." Ravus does not intend to come across as demanding, but Lunafreya tenses visibly at his tone, and he sighs. He has grown too used to dealing with Empire officials. "Please, Sister," he amends, with an effort at more overt kindness. "All I want is your happiness, and I will do whatever I can to secure it."

Lunafreya's persistent smile is beginning to look more like a grimace, but she takes a deep breath. "I want so much to marry for love," she says, not meeting Ravus's eyes. "But Noctis was—is still—so young, and it has been more than a decade since last we met. I fear that marrying me will only increase the burden on his shoulders. That, because of the nature of our arrangement, he does not love me as I love him."

Ravus stares at Lunafreya, incredulous. How could anyone _not_ love her? "If he does not, then he is not worthy of you."

"His worthiness is not for me to decide," says Lunafreya. "I will marry Noctis, and gladly. Although…" She pauses, glancing aside. "It has been such a long time. I can no longer tell which of my feelings are real, and which I have convinced myself to feel." Lunafreya looks up at Ravus again, searching his expression as if looking for something specific, although he cannot guess what she is looking for. "Perhaps I do not truly love _him_ , either."

"What are you saying?" asks Ravus, frowning.

Lunafreya gives a short exhalation, the closest to frustration he has seen her in some time. "If I must be uneasy, then let my unease be someone else's reassurance," she says, adjusting and readjusting her sleeves. "You have never approved of Noctis, or my affections, so you may take some small comfort in the knowledge that I may yet be deluding myself."

"Your pain can never bring me comfort."

"Then I suppose this must pain us both awhile longer," murmurs Lunafreya, closing her eyes, and bows her head in exhaustion. "I'm sorry, Ravus. I never meant to give you cause for concern."

"Don't apologize," retorts Ravus, stepping forward to take her hand in both of his before he can think better of it. "I've already told you; all I want for you, and all I have ever wanted, is your happiness." More than anything else, he wishes for her to love as she chooses. Even if it means choosing Noctis. "If there is anything I can do to m—"

"I don't _know_ what will make me happy," says Lunafreya, unusually vehement, and already on the verge of tears as she glares up at him. (That is not a sign of weakness, but of the strength of her emotions.) "I have come to doubt my own heart. And even on my more certain days, a sense of foreboding almost drowns it out. I have…" Her voice falters. "I have had a premonition."

"A vision from the Messengers?" Such as he has never seen, himself, despite being of the Oracle's blood.

Lunafreya shakes her head. "I cannot explain it," she says. "Yet I know, through some means I don't understand, that I will never marry Noctis. Regardless of whatever my feelings may be. It is fate."

"Then defy it," says Ravus, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. "You are the strongest person I know. If anyone can bend fate to her will, it is you."

But, rather than take heart in his assurance, Lunafreya only sighs. "You have always thought too highly of me, Ravus," she says, her tone equal parts grateful and reproachful, so that he cannot easily respond to either sentiment. "Forgive me, but I have learned to set aside your judgment by now."

Ravus closes his eyes briefly, scowling. So _that_ is why Lunafreya never listens to him. If he could only show her the depth of his affection, how much he cares… but no, she will never believe him. All his support thus far has only convinced her to ignore him, and even as clumsy as his words may be, his gestures are all the more so. He has little choice but to resign himself to his helplessness, and be thankful that Lunafreya has chosen to confide in him at all.

"You'll find a way," says Ravus eventually, and—after a hesitation—bends down to kiss her cheek in parting. That, perhaps, will serve as proof enough, a departure from their tradition of lukewarm distance. But as he lowers his head, Lunafreya turns hers to face him, and their lips brush.

Electricity jolts through Ravus's body, the likes of which even the Fulgurian could not inspire, and he jerks away, heart skipping a beat. A fleeting fluke like that may yet be permissible, but it still verges on the taboo. Cold-blooded as Ravus makes it a point to be, that knowledge is more than enough for it to run colder still. Lunafreya is all he has left; he cannot run the risk of offending her.

Thankfully, a simple apology should be enough to rectify the situation. Clearing his throat, Ravus opens his mouth to extend one, but Lunafreya's countenance tells him that he has already been absolved. Her gaze is full of a profound confusion, yet a faint glimmer of conscious curiosity outshines the anxiety, filling him with gentle warmth. There is a restless glow about her rosy cheeks, and as his eyes flit around her features in search of certainty, she moistens her lips nervously, as if in anticipation of something to come.

Perhaps that incident wasn't unintentional after all…

Ravus's breath catches at the idea, and time stops. It feels as though breaking the silence will shatter the moment forever, and to depart means turning his back on limitless and petrifying possibility. The only option left is to act, but he knows nothing about the nameless challenge that has been laid before him, and he has never been half so courageous in facing unknown threats as Lunafreya. Yet, rather than taking the initiative, she seems intent on awaiting his reaction and submitting to his judgment. Submitting herself to him.

 _That_ crosses a line. Wrenching his head aside to dislodge the thought, Ravus glances down self-consciously at Lunafreya, half expecting her to have fled his presence, but finds that she has barely moved. Though she has turned her face diffidently away from his, she seems to be awaiting his verdict. It does not matter how long he takes to make a decision, only what he chooses to do.

And Ravus's course is becoming ever clearer with every heartbeat. He must erase this moment from his memory and replace it with closure, this time under his careful control. A misstep or misunderstanding here might lead to madness.

Slowly, Ravus leans back down in a more purposeful gesture of farewell to counteract that accident, to tie off the loose end Lunafreya tugged from among his heartstrings. Their mouths touch, lips neither puckered nor parted, but their contact lasts an instant too long. Lunafreya's lips stir faintly against his in automatic readjustment… and Ravus instinctively responds in kind.

He realizes his mistake a split second later, but it is too late. Freezing, he tries to draw back, but the touch of her warm hand on his cheek melts him again. Then, there is stillness and silence but for Ravus's pounding heartbeat, shaking his body and lightening his head. Their proximity is intoxicating enough that for a moment, he forgets that he has forgotten himself. But only for a moment.

Once more, Ravus opens his mouth to apologize, but once more, Lunafreya stops him with a look. As she slides her supple fingers to the back of his neck, he shivers, his few lingering thoughts of begging her forgiveness scattering to the farthest corners of his mind. And, as she draws him imploringly, impossibly closer, eyes intent upon his expression, he finds that he has neither the desire nor the strength to resist any longer.

Their lips meet once more, and move apart in graceless earnestness; they are well-matched in their shared inexperience. Ravus's eyes close without his notice or permission, but his other senses sharpen so seamlessly he scarcely notices. As he drinks Lunafreya in, reality becomes indistinct, their individual identities immaterial, yet at the same time, he notices every sensation in incredible detail.

Her mouth is warm and inviting against his, but cool in their brief moments of separation, where wetness touches open air. Ravus's hand has found its way to her slender waist, snow-white satin growing hot beneath his hand—profaned by his unseemly touch. And, though Lunafreya's participation is willing and eager, her fingers are tremulous as they weave themselves into his hair.

But they must break away all too soon to catch their breath, and after the sharp chill of conditioned guilt wears off, a feverish flush spreads across Ravus's face as surely as the blush on Lunafreya's. How beautiful she is, how precious; how fragile, yet how powerful. And how pure, in her innocent temptation. Confusion ought not be mistaken for corruption, nor a moment of weakness for a heart as weak as his. She is blameless in his complicity.

Lunafreya has stoked an inextinguishable fire in Ravus's blood… yet, even so fully attuned to his own actions and reactions, he feels strangely apart from himself. His body is numb despite its natural reactions, forbidden desire seething beneath a subdued surface. And he begins to crave release for that intensity of feeling, as he seeks water to slake his thirst. However long their kiss lasted, it was not long enough.

"Forgive me, Lunafreya," breathes Ravus, and seeks wholeness in her again.

She does not, or perhaps cannot, resist: the difference, if there is one, is negligible. Through her silent suasion, she has encouraged him to push open the door she left ajar. And push it open he does, daring to incur the gods' wrath by taking the initiative. They can rain down their fury all they like, but Ravus will feel no pain now that their Oracle has cursed him with her blessing.

His thoughts become more nebulous, impressions and emotions strung together in place of words. Instead of satiating him, however, Lunafreya has only made Ravus hungrier. His breaths come hot and shallow, all the more as her fingernails dig into his back through one too many articles of clothing. Lightning floods his veins, its answering thunder an involuntary vocalization, half a moan. "Oh, Luna—"

Ravus is cut off by a convulsive swallow, her name abbreviated, but Lunafreya whispers a response in kind. At the sound of his name on her lips, still so close to his, it takes all his considerable strength to restrain himself from overwhelming her entirely with the force of his feeling. But then, quite suddenly, she withers, slumping into his arms with a little gasp.

Catching Lunafreya the moment he senses her weakening, Ravus curves his arm around her waist to support her, and their bodies press together so that he too inhales sharply. Where once his skin felt numb and icy, it now tingles hotly with every touch. Still, his concern outweighs his distraction. "Are you all right?" he asks, tongue more sluggish than usual as he confines it to words once more.

"My strength wanes more and more each day I fight the darkness," she says, braving a smile. "I know you said to stop, but I can't." And, though she does not apologize this time, Ravus hears it anyway.

Scowling, he takes both her shoulders in his hands, moving her far enough away from his body to look her in the eye. "It isn't your fault," he tells her, vehemently. "None of it is. Please, Lunafreya, don't blame y—" But he realizes all at once that she has stopped breathing, and realizes how tightly he is holding onto her, forcing his fingers to relax. "I'm hurting you?"

Incoherent concern tumbles out of his mouth, half a question, but Lunafreya understands, and shakes her head. "No more than I deserve," she says, her eyes full of sorrow like tears. Though she takes a deep breath as if meaning to elaborate, Ravus presses another quick kiss to her lips by way of pointed interruption. He knows from experience that contradicting her in words never works in his favor, and in any case, he would prefer not to dwell on such heavy subjects when his head is so light.

"Tell me how I can ease the pain," whispers Ravus, bending down to look Lunafreya in the eye as he has many times before, ever since their childhood—but this time, she does not quite meet his gaze. "Any way at all."

Lunafreya frowns, swaying in place, and Ravus's grip tightens again to keep her upright. "You can carry me, I suppose," she says, gesturing to the adjoining room. "Over there. To my bed." She falters as she says it, eyes determinedly downcast, and Ravus feels the heat rise to his face. They are each sensible of the implications, but is her suggestion intentional or unintentional? He dares not ask, but it is irrelevant; Lunafreya's word is his law.

Stooping to pick her up, Ravus sweeps her off her feet in one fluid motion. Even considering her wedding gown, layered and unwieldy, she is very light. Or perhaps he has grown strong over the years from bearing the weight of so many sins, tonight the heaviest of them all. But bearing any burden is made easier when his sister is at his side… and effortless when she is in his arms.

Striding through Lunafreya's room brings a savage sort of satisfaction. Ravus, not Noctis, is the first to carry her like this, to lay her upon the bridal bed. Glancing down to ensure that he releases her gently enough, he has the strangest desire to rest his head on her breast and let her heartbeat lull him to sleep—as he did with their late mother more than twenty years ago—but straightens up and turns away instead. (She has expanded her role enough tonight already without adding that of 'mother' to her repertoire.)

Pacing restlessly, Ravus halts at the foot of her bed, hand curling around the bedpost. Reckless yearning claws at his heart, but for what? All he wants is what Lunafreya wants, or so he tells himself. Why, then, does he struggle so passionately against a destiny that does not concern him? And why does he still despise Noctis, whom she adores? If tonight has taught him anything, it is that blood is irrelevant, Lucian included. By all means, hers is a worthwhile fate, and a worthy love; he should be preparing to give her away at the altar, not lingering so long in her chambers.

A motion in Ravus's peripheral vision draws his attention as Lunafreya pushes herself upright, concern and curiosity mingling in her eyes. "Are _you_ all right?"

"Must you always worry so?" asks Ravus, crossing his arms. "You know I cannot answer that question until you do so yourself." Again. He must know whether she has improved since he brought her here, whether there is anything further he can do for her.

Lunafreya laughs faintly, and another rush of warmth blossoms in Ravus's heart. "Last I looked, of the two of us, you worry far more than I," she says. "But yes, Ravus, I'm fine." In a way, their exchange feels almost like a game, such as the ones they played as children—only, in between pursuing one another, they must now hide and seek their sentiments.

"Then so am I," says Ravus, but wavers, glancing back toward the door. It is dangerous to linger any longer, and well he knows it. Lunafreya has given him more than enough to keep him awake tonight as it is. His heart will sing her praises for years to come, even should he try to smother it once the dawn inevitably breaks, and brings to light all his shame.

But Lunafreya evidently senses the direction in which his thoughts tend, and sits up, all levity vanishing. "Will you not stay a little longer, and keep me company?" she asks. "We have spent so little time together of late." Ravus looks back at her in surprise, but her expression reveals little of her exact thoughts—only subdued urgency. Whatever her reason, Lunafreya needs him to stay. And that means he has no choice.

"As you wish, dear sister," responds Ravus, seating himself tentatively on her bed. Lunafreya looks uneasy at the use of her relation rather than her name, and he feels a momentary pang… but he must be sure she understands the situation, should she choose to lead him any farther into temptation. Before one can deliberately break a rule, one must remember the rule exists in the first place. Otherwise, one cannot truly claim the agency to accept the consequences of one's actions.

But what of Ravus himself? An inaudible voice prods at the edges of his mind, and he bows his head as if in prayer to answer it. Lunafreya's willing lips have silenced his conscience and heightened his senses. Forbidden fruit has never tasted sweeter, and no regret can embitter such euphoria. All he desires is for her to desire him, as he has now come to realize he desires her. And all that remains is to await her verdict.

It does not come in words. Rather, something just shy of sharp pokes Ravus's shoulderblade, and he stiffens. Turning his head, he discovers that Lunafreya has raised her foot to angle her heel into him—half-inquisitive, half-playful, like her tone: "But if you intend merely to sit with your back to me all night, then perhaps you had better go after all."

More than her words, the pressure of her shoe on Ravus's back is the slightest bit painful, and reawakens all his suppressed senses anew. As his heart lurches into a gallop, whatever is left of his rational mind reminds him that he must leave now or be lost forever, engulfed in the shadows cast by Lunafreya's light. But a wave of weakness washes over him, scattering his self-control to the winds, and Ravus turns in place to look at her.

As he does so, her foot falls to his lap, and he jumps as the spike of her heel lands on his upper thigh, a spark of unexpected sensation rekindling the flame in his blood. His eyes, drawn down, land on Lunafreya's bare calf, and his tremulous hand comes to rest atop it. In a desperate attempt to ignore his now thunderous pulse, Ravus wrenches his gaze away from her alabaster skin and tries to look toward her face instead… but stops short.

Part of Lunafreya's dress has slipped down past her bent knee, though tulle and satin still obscures most else. Eyes traveling up the length of her body, lingering here and there half against his will, Ravus finds her chest rising and falling in quick but deep breaths, and her expression is almost expectant. Yet is the hint of apprehension in Lunafreya's countenance, not her anticipation, that spurs Ravus on. If she showed no sign of recognizing their defiance of all convention and natural law, he might not be so bold. They should indulge themselves with the full awareness of what it means to do so, or not at all.

Swallowing words he has already forgotten by the time they reach the tip of his tongue, Ravus turns around fully and kneels. Running his hand up Lunafreya's leg and then down again, over the bend of her knee—but on top of the fabric—he follows its lead, crawling forward to position himself over Lunafreya by degrees. Once his fingers reach the crook of her thigh and her pelvis, he holds her there, using her body as a handhold to haul himself the rest of the way over her.

But as he lowers himself gingerly between her legs, all too aware of the places their bodies brush, Ravus finds that his mouth has gone dry. For the first time this evening, he grants sanctuary to a few stray misgivings. Whatever else may transpire between them tonight, and no matter his wishes or hers, he cannot claim her fully for his own. This is close enough; the infinitesimal space remaining between them must stay. For Lunafreya's sake, he must leave her body intact, that her soul may reflect it.

Finding comfort in closure, in discovering a definitive limit at last, Ravus bows his head in relief—but starts again as she brushes a few locks of hair out of his face. Though she says nothing, her eyes entreat him to explain himself, and he finds he cannot meet them. "I fear… I am not as light as you are, Lunafreya," he says, the lie hollow in his belly.

She only smiles in response, stirring slightly beneath him, and he grits his teeth at the motion, but his discomfort only makes her smile all the more. She is teasing him now. "I am already carrying the weight of the world, Ravus," whispers Lunafreya, reaching up to caress his face with immeasurable affection in her soft blue gaze. "What makes you think I can't bear yours as well?"

It is obvious from her tone that she is well aware of his true concerns, and speaks to assuage them. Rather than reply, Ravus leans his forehead against hers in gratitude, then kisses her tenderly once more. It soon spills over the edges, rising and falling like the ocean tides, and their bodies ripple faintly against one another in response, friction eliciting the beginnings of frustrated pleasure.

By the time they break away for breath, Ravus's hand has found its way to Lunafreya's breast, and he kneads it with impatience he does not understand. A shudder runs through her body, undulating against his more decisively now, and he chases the pressure to grind against her. Nestling his face into the crook of her neck, he breathes into her skin… and then, on an impulse he cannot explain, nips her half-gently.

As Lunafreya gasps in his ear, Ravus cannot fully stifle a vocalization in response, and his movements become stronger, rougher, more pronounced, his mouth finding the side of her throat to kiss her more insistently. Though he grips fistfuls of her skirts, clumsily rearranging them in the hopes of reciprocating the feelings she has evoked in him, it is not his place to push them up altogether. No matter how tight and cumbersome their clothes may come to feel, they must not—cannot—remove the layers still between them.

Clinging to that resolution as tightly as he clings to Lunafreya's dress, Ravus shifts his position, propping himself up with one arm and curling his fingers around the back of her thigh. Her answering giggle is breathy, her eyes bright in the dim golden lamplight, and he closes his own to savor the moment.

This is all Ravus has ever wanted: complete trust, and almost complete control. He has always been expendable in the eyes of the Empire, but Lunafreya is enough for him to forget it. Here and now, he is good enough as he is, and she has been the one to let him know. She is all Ravus has, and all he has ever wanted is to be needed in the same way he needs her. They can rely on no one but each other, and Lunafreya should know she is safe with him.

Tonight, Ravus tells himself, lowering his lips to hers once more. All he needs is this single night to hold onto, and then he can relinquish her to herself, to Noctis, perhaps even to the fate she has so willingly embraced. But as he prepares to realize his dream, his thoughts become clearer, painfully sharp like the sudden pang in his chest—and the world, not Lunafreya, rolls him abruptly onto his back.

Sitting bolt upright, Ravus encounters no resistance, finding himself alone in his own bed. Panting in the aftermath of unfulfilled fantasy, he touches his lips, his arm, himself. Looking wildly about his room, he notices the High Messenger regarding him through closed eyes from some distance away, and her expression is one of pity.

"Why?"

Only as the word leaves his lips does Ravus realize that he has spoken. Face burning, he gathers his knees closer and leans forward to half embrace them, concealing his shame. How long has she been standing there? And _what_ has he been doing?

"The lord's dream may not mean what he thinks," says Gentiana softly, her voice full of sorrow. "He wishes to look after the lady and provide for her future, and he does not yet trust the king to do so in his stead." She hesitates, bowing her head. "The lord seeks only to love, and be loved in return. The desire itself is pure, but it has become corrupted with envy and jealousy—and what he believes love should be."

Ravus takes a halting breath, head still whirling, and shakes his head. "You didn't…" he tries, but falters, and swallows queasily. "You didn't have to show me that." Such simple ecstasy, so close yet so far away; of course such bliss could only be a dream. Lunafreya would never conspire with him to commit such a sin, and Ravus curses himself for ever having believed her capable of betraying herself in such a way.

"It was not my doing," says Gentiana softly, and Ravus's stomach lurches. "I sought only to show that the lord does not hate us as much as he wishes to keep his sister safe, and that we share that desire." She raises her head. "But, though the gods are content to rule, the commander seeks to serve, and the lead to follow. The lady took a complementary role only because he wished it, in his heart of hearts."

"I wished for no such thing," retorts Ravus, but Gentiana simply turns her mild gaze upon him, and her gentle disbelief is more than he can bear. It resonates too strongly with what he understands, in his core, to be the truth. "I didn't," he says, more forcefully, and glares at her. (Is he trying to convince her, or himself?) "It was only a dream."

But, for all his anguished protestation, Ravus already knows he is wrong. Deeper down than he cares to delve consciously, he realizes that Gentiana's vision has only cast light on his darkest facets. But to acknowledge the prior existence of such twisted desires, now that he understands how unrequited they truly are, will tear apart his very soul.

"A—a dream you induced," continues Ravus, returning once more to his feeble attack. "You're trying to lead me astray!" The accusation is an empty one, and both of them know it. Though he opens his mouth to add more, the false words stick in his throat, and he cannot spit them out. Gentiana does not move, merely continuing to watch Ravus patiently, as if awaiting something.

There is a long and oppressive silence as he tries to figure out what she wants… what _he_ wants. If his vision is to be believed, he desires Lunafreya, but she is beyond his reach. Even if she was not, he knows she would never go behind the back of her betrothed to initiate such an unnatural dalliance, and pleasing her outweighs all Ravus's other needs. If that means keeping his distance, even after realizing what he will be missing, then so be it.

He just wishes, before he can stop himself, that they might align—just once, just once—to let him taste in reality what he almost had in dreams.

The thought sets off a shockwave powerful enough to break his heart and the silence all at once. It seems he cannot bear this insight after all. " _Take it back_ ," chokes out Ravus, as close to begging as he has ever come. "Make me forget." He has always understood that his life belongs to Lunafreya; there is no need for him to recall on how many levels that is true, especially knowing it to be impossible. He cannot risk allowing the strain of temptation to destroy what little of a relationship they have.

Gentiana inclines her head, perhaps having expected Ravus to say such a thing, and her expression is one of grief. "Perhaps the lord is better off in darkness after all," she murmurs, stepping forward. She moves slowly, as if to give him a chance to retract his demand, but he does not—cannot. How could he live with himself, knowing he harbors such perverse potential?

Once Gentiana reaches Ravus's bedside, she rests two fingers on his forehead, pushing him back down to his pillow with effortless grace. "Let it be undone," she whispers, and his scowl lessens, his tense muscles loosening under the pressure of her touch. All his thoughts seem to concentrate in the forefront of his mind, and he winces under the strain of holding them there. But as Gentiana releases him, and her presence finally vanishes, they scatter, and his consciousness falls into an icy ravine.

Losing his grip on his turbulent emotions as he tumbles further down toward slumber, Ravus takes a deep breath, relaxing into sleepy solitude. Even the vague sensation of having been troubled seems unimportant now, far away from himself and all that matters. But one nagging thought keeps him from falling all the way back asleep. He has the faintest impression that he is forgetting something…

But whatever it is cannot be too important if it has slipped his mind so easily, thinks Ravus, turning back over. If it matters enough, he will remember it eventually. For now, he must rest; only a few hours remain before the dawn—and tomorrow, he must slay the Hydraean.


End file.
